


Tangled

by FlowingRiverAshes



Category: Game Grumps, Tangled (2010), egobang - Fandom
Genre: Adventures, Alternate Universe, Arin Hansen - Freeform, Arin as Flynn, Character names switched, Dan Avidan/Arin Hansen, Dan goes by his first name, Disney, First Kiss, Game Grumps - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, I got copyright struck, Kidnapping, LITERALLY, Leigh Avidan, Lesbians, Living Hair, M/M, MAGIC HAIR, No songs, Not even close to to movie accurate, Rapunzel Dan, Sassy Motherfucker, Slow Burn, Suzy and the others aren't in this, Tagging sucks, but fuck it, dan avidan - Freeform, flower child, flynn rider - Freeform, i basically took the name and vague characters, i went nuts with this, rapunzel - Freeform, sorry - Freeform, tangled, this plot makes no sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-09-05 09:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16807603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlowingRiverAshes/pseuds/FlowingRiverAshes
Summary: Leigh has never seen life outside of the tower.Arin has never seen anything like Leigh.Will overly-complex backstories, stunted emotional growth and intricate plot get in the way of their happily ever after? Read on to find out.I do not own Tangled or any of the movie quotes, characters and places used. Please don't copyright strike me again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is going to be a long fic, as I can't do good shit in moderation, so please bear with me as it may be a while between some updates. Love you all! Please leave comments and tell me how I did!

Waking up to bright sunshine was something that Leigh was more than used to, and more than sick of. He rolled over with a groan and felt a sharp tug on his scalp. "Fuck, not again," he grumbled, rolling back to peek under the bed. Sure enough, the long, woven rope of his hair had wound itself around the bedpost again. 

He gave it a sharp tug and it unwound immediately, slipping to the floor like silk. He was not impressed.

He sat up and pulled it onto the bed with him, piling it into a coil that stood several feet high before flopping over into a formless mess. Time to brush it.

Starting from his elbows, he carefully unwound the twine that held the  dark brown cloth in place, peeling back the cloth once it was far enough removed. As the wrappings pulled away, strands of jet - black curls fell free, pulling tighter away from the tight control. Each piece of wrap that he took off was placed carefully to the side for re-use as he worked his way down the length of the rope of curls.

He finally reached the end and put aside the last piece of cloth, shaking out the jaw-dropping 70 feet of ebony curls that defied all laws of physics in their silken, springy texture. The hair framed his face as he pulled out a hairbrush and, arms shaking with the effort, began pulling it through the hair, working from the bottom up.

Detailing how he brushed his hair would be pointless, seeing as everyone's done it sooner or later, but he was panting as he finished dragging the tangles from his scalp to the ends of his hair. A clump of hair the size of a small cat dropped out of the gorgeous mass, immediately shrinking to about a foot long and turning a milky chocolate brown. 

He paused in his efforts and allowed himself to rest. While he did, he got out of bed and stretched, doing his usual set of exercises to work the cramps out of his muscles. You'd think after 21 years, he'd have grown used to brushing it out, but each morning brought new snarls. 

A small chameleon approached Leigh, seeming to yawn widely, earning a smile from the sweating man. "Morning, Pasqual," he said, straightening up and pushing a stray curl behind his ear. "What should we do today?"

The reptile shrugged and made himself at home next to the huge pile of cloth on the bed. Leigh made a face and sighed. "Yeah, you're right. Nothing until the hair goes up."

In spite of the spirit of the task, Leigh found himself grinning. This was easily his favorite part of his morning routine. Wrapping the body of his hair tightly around his hand, he got into position. Under his steady fingers, the strands seemed to come to life, sensing exactly what he wanted and yearning to respond. Lashing out with his arm, he flung the hair at one of the beams on the ceiling. The curls unwound themselves like extensions of his hand and wrapped around the beam securely. Pasqual watched unimpressed as Leigh  lept into the air, hair still wrapped securely around his hand, and swung like a monkey from the ceiling, cackling wildly. His hair flexed and catapulted him higher still, until he came to rest squarely on the support.

Exercises like this were necessary to support the strength and health of his hair. Without them, it became brittle and didn't respond like a living thing at all.

A slight tug released the hair from its tight coil and he sat down on the wood, allowing the sea of seemingly endless curls to drift lazily to the ground. For a moment, he wished that he could have his hair down like this all the time. It certainly hurt less and responded better. But his mother would never allow it. Speaking of, she would be there soon...

With a deep sigh, he stared at the waterfall of coal-colored waves, feeling the silken texture blowing across his bare back and arms. Seemingly of its own accord, the hair gave a slow wave in time with the sigh, and beginning at elbow height braided itself into a tight plait. When it was finished, it was only half the length that it had been. Taking the braid in his hand, he snapped it around the beam again and swung down to land not-so-gracefully in the pile of cloth wrappings.

He spent the next few minutes wrapping the braid in cloth and tying it securely with twine. When he was finished, it fell limply to the floor, burdened by the weight as was intended.

He stretched again and began to hum a song as he went to begin the rest of his routine.

He began to sing quietly to himself, grabbing a broom. The weighted braid lifted itself and wrapped tightly around his waist like a belt, seeming to shrink down to the exact size required, where it would stay until needed. 

Time seemed to fly as he swept, mopped and dusted, pausing only occasionally to shift the weight of his hair a little.

He glanced at the ornate grandfather clock, setting aside the broom, and sighed heavily, still singing. "It's like seven fifteen?"

He danced himself over to the window and opened it the rest of the way, letting the refreshing summer breeze run through the unweighted part of his hair. It smelled like it would rain soon. He hoped it would-- a musty smell had been plaguing the tower for days.

"And  so I'll read a book," he continued singing, turning away from the window.

He kept humming as he slowly wound through his usual morning hobbies, making some cookies to stash away for later and flipping through the books that he’d read every day for as long as he could remember.

He paused in his song, letting paint-stained fingertips fall from the strings of his guitar as he stared absentmindedly out the window. “I wonder, when will my life begin?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm already adoring how this story is going and it is 3 AM. Perfect.

As far as mornings go, this one was unusual, even for Arin.  Typically he was still sleeping at this hour, sometimes next to a gorgeous innkeeper's daughter or, rarely, an even more gorgeous innkeeper's son, and sometimes he was sleeping on a pile of leaves next to the two redheaded buffoons he called partners.

Either way you look at it, circumstances dictated that being lowered through a hole in the roof of a massive stone bank vault was not normal.

Not that he cared. The most valuable object in the entire kingdom was just a few feet away from his grasp-- a shining golden crown, inlaid with jewels and the finest of pearls, fit for a prince.  Er , well, the lost prince, actually. Technicalities.

He stretched out a hand, blowing his hair out of his face with an annoyed huff, and grabbed the crown, feeling the weight of all the meals he would soon be able to afford settle firmly in his grip. He tugged on the rope around his waist just as a guard  outside the vault  sneezed.

He couldn't help himself.

" Allergies ?" he  called  knowingly. The guard  replied in the affirmative sheepishly. The brothers yanked him back up to the roof with a sharp tug as he  heard the guard realize what had just happened. 

"I got it, but we need to run. NOW," he hissed, throwing the rest of the rope over his shoulder without bothering to untie it from his waist.

The trio rappel l ed down the roof and booked it across the bridge, running for the forest they could see just in the distance. Behind them, trumpets blared, sending an alarm that would trigger dozens of men on VERY FAST horses to catch them and drag them back to jail. 

Arin shuddered at the thought and picked up the pace. His lean stature and long legs meant that soon, the burly brothers were left in the dust. "Wait for us, Hansen!" one called gruffly. Arin tactfully ignored him. There was no way he was going to share this prize. He made it to the tree line just as the captain of the guard crested the bridge and spotted the flagging pair. It was just a matter of seconds before the brothers would snitch, and he knew he had to act fast.

He paused for breath by a massive boulder covered with moss. This would be no easy escape. 

He leaned against the moss and was surprised when it gave way, sending him sprawling on his ass into a dark tunnel. 

"Perfect," he muttered, checking to be sure the crown hadn't been damaged.

He stayed there for a moment, ears straining to pick out the sounds of horses, when he heard a much closer sound. It sounded like someone was coming through the underbrush, slow but dangerously close.

He hesitated only a minute before bolting through the tunnel.

He emerged into a  wide open clearing, flanked by the cliffs that began the rise of the mountain and giving way to a spectacular waterfall. In the middle of the lush greenery was a tall, winding tower, seeming to have no entrance and only one window near the top. Something looking like a long rope was hanging out the window, hanging impossibly far down the wall and swaying in the breeze from the waterfall.

Arin had no time to consider what it meant, though. He spotted a huge, dense bush and dove into its center, ignoring the painful pricks and tugs of the thorns to bask in the safety of this unconventional hiding spot.

From a gap in the branches, he saw a tall, stately woman emerge. She was beautiful, but aged. She carried herself with the grace and dignity of a noble woman, and the crushed red velvet peeking from under the worn traveler's cloak told him that his assumption was correct.

He watched as she approached the tower and stopped beneath the window. 

"Leigh! Be a dear and lend me a hand up, would you?"

Arin's breath stalled in his throat as a devastatingly handsome young man stuck his head out of the window. To his surprise, the long item that he had assumed to be rope was actually the mysterious man's hair, as leaning out let it fully fall from his shoulders.

In awe, he watched as the man pulled the hair up for a moment. It seemed that it had a life of its own. After a brief second, the hair sailed back out the window, this time partially unbound.

The thick ebony curls de s cended gently to the ground and the woman sneered in disgust before picking up the end and securing it around her waist.

She was lifted as though she was as light as a feather and soon clamored in the window and out of sight.

Arin finally let out the breath he'd been holding and relaxed. This was his time to go, if he wanted to. The woman was out of sight and it had been long enough that the soldiers had probably passed this beautiful little spot. 

But the memory of the beautiful face at the window stopped him in his tracks. He wanted to know who the person was, and why they were in such a predicament that their tower could not have a door.

Besides, he reasoned to himself, adjusting his position and picking a thorn out of his cheek. The soldiers would be combing the woods for the next day, at least. There was no way he'd make it out today.  So he settled down and waited.


	3. Chapter 3

A flash of movement outside the window caught Leigh's eye and he put the guitar down and moved closer to investigate. A figure emerged from the far end of the clearing, running too fast to be Mother  Lydia . The mystery person paused for a moment and looked up to admire the view, catching Leigh completely by surprise.

He'd never seen another man outside of the books that  Lydia brought him. And this one didn't look anything like them.

He was fit and dressed in simple leather and cloth. Even from the window, Leigh could see the streak of blond in his shaggy brown hair. As far as looks went, he wasn't as bad as the illustrations, or at least not from a distance.

The man dove into the bushes near the base of the tower, disappearing from view, just as the familiar figure of Mother  Lydia appeared from the same place as the stranger. Leigh's throat went dry and he gripped his rope of hair, feeling it flex gently under his fingers.

He knew what was coming, and he dreaded it more than anything.

The tall, stately woman approached the base of the tower and called out to him, as she always did. He tugged hard on the cloth and the hair retracted through the window. Behind him, Pasqual stretched and jumped down to his usual hiding place beneath the bed. If she found him, he was toast.

Leigh unwrapped the bottom few feet of hair, heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the strands moving uneasily under his hands, sensing his discomfort. What would Mother  Lydia do to the stranger if she knew he would see the magic in his hair?

He shook off the thought and a snap of his wrist sent the hair flying out the window much faster than he'd intended, forcing him to concentrate hard and stop the fierce momentum before it injured someone.

He stuck his head out the window in time to meet the eyes of the man in the bushes, who was staring at him in awe. The dark eyes held his and he barely felt the flex of his hair as  Lydia began her ascent.

He tore his gaze away in time to help her through the window, noting her look of disgust and preparing himself for a verbal lashing.

Beneath the window, the man was still looking up towards him, and it was with a tiny twinge of regret that he closed the shutters completely.

Immediately, he found his arms loaded with  Lydia 's cloak and traveling basket as she fluffed out the great masses of beautiful black curls and straightened the crushed red velvet of her dress. He swallowed his questions and silently put the items where they belonged.

When he returned, she was sat in front of the mirror, combing her fingers through her hair and stretching the skin on her face in exp e rimental ways. "About time, Leigh Daniel," she snapped, not even turning to face him. He knelt, as was customary, and began to unwind his hair yet again. The scowl on her face deepened.

"Must you always let that out?"

Leigh bit his tongue and nodded, knowing that any word from him would be rewarded with a slap. His hair flexed as soon as the last cloth fell away, swelling to its normal size and readying itself for the task at hand.

Lydia  pursed her lips and surveyed the handsome young man on his knees behind her, head down, surrounded by curls identical to her own. "You know what to do," she said finally, looking back to the mirror.

She shivered as tendrils of hair wrapped around her wrists, holding on a little  snugger than was necessary. The living nature of Leigh's hair had always been a hated and feared mystery to her. 

Leigh's deep, rich voice filled the room a s he began to sing the song that focused his power, a nd a strong golden glow shone through the strands of his hair, seeming to sink into her arms. She let her head fall back as warmth spread through her body. In the mirror, she could see the wrinkles disappearing from her skin and the streaks of grey in her hair turning back to black.

After a few moments, t he room fell silent and the glow disappeared.  Lydia sat up and examined herself in the mirror. Where once there was a proud, aging woman sat a stunningly beautiful young girl, looking the same age as Leigh himself. Bright green eyes met hers in the mirror and she watched in amusement as they blinked slowly and then closed, hearing the thud of Leigh's body hitting the floor.

His unnatural hair curled itself around him in a way that could easily be called protective, shielding his unconscious body from any harm.

Lydia  simply sneered and gathered her things. "Take me down, abomination," she commanded, and his hair, moving on its own, did as she commanded.

Once she was gone, it draped over Leigh's body like a blanket, settling as he slept off the tremendous energy loss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm editing this as I go, so I apologize if you see an update and it doesn't look like anything's been done.

Arin could have fainted, seeing the gorgeous young woman slide down the mane of hair as if it were second nature. She wore the same clothing that  the mysterious older woman had, had the same hair and haughty walk, but she looked decades younger. 

He waited until she had left the clearing to make his move. He tied his hair back out of his face with a small strip of leather and, using two handheld hooks that he kept in his bag for reasons very similar to this, he began to carefully scale the tower.

It took him way longer than he expected, but at last he reached the window, and was shocked to find the tower dark inside. Where had the beautiful young man gone?

He hopped into the room and took his bearings. The room itself was simple and sparsely furnished, but covered from floor to ceiling in intricate paintings that he couldn't make out. He spotted a lantern and lit it with the flint in the front pocket of his satchel, throwing the room into light and illuminating a dark shape sprawled on the floor. 

It was the man from before, pale and unconscious, wrapped in the most beautiful curls Arin had ever seen. The poor guy looked totally drained, borderline ill, and Arin briefly entertained the idea that the mysterious woman was a witch sapping his vitality. 

He approached Leigh's unconscious body and knelt down beside it, reaching out to lightly stroke the masses of black waves. "Well,  Hansen , you've gotten yourself into quite the predicament," he murmured to himself, gazing down at the problem before him. "I should put him on the bed..."

Before he could finish his sentence, a loud clang  thud throughout the room, and Arin dropped to the floor, out cold.

Behind him, a tendril of Leigh's hair put down the  cutting board it had fetched, and began the arduous task of binding the now-unconscious intruder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Arin woke up, he found himself face to face with Leigh, who was pale and unsteady but awake and holding a frying pan in a vaguely threatening manner. Arin tried to move, but found himself bound into a chair with the masses of hair. The more he struggled, the tighter it got.

"Who are you?" Leigh asked after a moment.

Arin took the opportunity to examine his captor instead of answering. He truly was a gorgeous sight-- sharp, defined features, mossy green eyes, dark stubble, and, of course, the hair that wrapped around a lean (almost skinny) frame. 

"Who are YOU?" he responded finally. 

"I asked first. I'm nobody," Leigh retorted, making Arin grin.

"Hi Nobody, I'm No One. I can play this game all day."

Leigh scowled, obviously annoyed. Arin winced as the hair wrapped around his wrists and ankles seemed to get even tighter than before.

"Fine, fine, whatever. My name's Arin  Hansen ," Arin said. "I came up here to hide from someone and to ask you a couple questions."

"Yeah well, you don't get to ask me questions, ARIN. You broke in here, remember?"

"Hey, hey, now wait a minute. I didn't break into anywhere! The window was open," Arin replied, wounded.

Leigh snorted, but lowered the frying pan. His strength was slowly coming back after the massive exertion of energy, and his dizziness was fading. The man in front of him definitely piqued his interest. Having only seen and heard about them through books and stories that his mother told him, he'd assumed they were big, hulking brutes, assaulting everyone they came across who was weaker than them.

But this one was tall and lean, with shaggy brown hair that bore a fascinating blond streak tied behind his head, letting a few tendrils hang into his warm, inv i ting face. He didn't LOOK dangerous.

"My name's Leigh Daniel," he replied finally. His hair loosened and allowed the stranger to pull away from the chair.

Arin stared at him in shock. "How'd you do that with your hair?"

Leigh grinned and  held out his hands . "Do what?"

Arin squinted at him for a minute and then dropped the subject. "Got a nickname, Leigh Daniel?"

"A what?"

"A nickname.  Y'know , a shorter name that people call you for convenience."

"Oh... uh, no."

"Alrighty then, I'll just call you Dan," Arin said with a shrug, wandering to the edge of the room to look at the mural that covered the walls. "Who painted these? They're amazing."

"I did," Dan said, embarrassed. "Boredom gets to you."

"How long did they take?"

"About eighteen years."

Arin shook his head and ran his hand over one of the many sun-like shapes. "You need to get out more."

"I've never been out at all," Dan replied, feeling the comforting weight of his hair settle in a loose shape over his shoulder and around his waist, coiling in on itself tightly to shrink to the necessary length.

A satchel on the floor by the window caught his eye, and he moved to pick it up. Before he could, Arin snatched it off the floor and threw it back around his shoulder. "That's private property, dear. It's very special to me."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an epiphany this morning regarding this story.  
> Just a heads up: This thing is gonna go WILDLY off the rails. Calling it movie accurate right now would be a sin.

Arin slung the satchel over his shoulder, allowing the strap to settle against his neck. The weight of the crown inside made him nervous.

Dan raised his hands in surrender and the hair around his waist flexed a little bit. "Alright, alright. Point taken."

"Man, you need to sit down," Arin said gently, watching Dan sway a bit. "Whatever had you knocked out really did a number on you." Dan hesitated for a moment, but sat down on the floor and leaned his head against the wooden footboard of his bed. Arin sat across from him and did his best not to stare as he worked out a plan for what to do next.

He should probably leave, seeing as that strange woman could come back at any moment if she happened to run into one of the guards combing the woods. But this man that he'd found, who painted and had never been outside this tower, fascinated Arin more than anything else. 

"Hey Dan, got a question for  ya ," he said after a moment, making up his mind in an instant. He was greeted by an exhausted, blank stare. "How'd you like to get out of this musty tower for a bit?"

Dan swallowed  hard, mouth suddenly dry. He desperately wanted to, truly, but he had never set foot outside, and there was only one way out of the tower. Not to mention what Mother would do if she found out, or what dangers they would face. Arin saw the fear and indecision in his eyes and raised one hand in defeat. "Hey, it was only a suggestion. You don't have to if you don't think you can."

The tease was deliberate, meant to goad Dan out of his shell, and judging from the look on his face, it had worked. "You don't know what you're talking about," Dan hissed. "You have no idea why I'm up here or why I can't leave."

" So tell me," Arin said lightly, readjusting his legs. "And maybe we wouldn't have this problem."

"I don't have to tell you anything. You broke in here, remember? I don't care if the window was open," Dan added as Arin opened his mouth to protest. "You don't belong here." 

Arin sat back, hiding a smile. "You're right, I don't. But in my own, humble opinion, neither do you. You're a fascinating person and I have a lot of questions, and personally, I'd like to take you with me." 

Dan blinked at him for a minute, taken aback. He hadn't expected such a blunt statement. "I... uh. Well. I can't leave, even if I wanted to. The thought is nice, but impossible."

"Why? Your hair can pull that woman up, it can lower you down easily. You have the easiest way out of here. And yet here you sit, painting on everything with a flat surface, just existing instead of living," Arin pointed out. He was sure that the mysterious woman had something to do with why Dan stayed, but he was not going to open that can of worms yet. He was also incredibly curious about the masses of hair wrapped so... daintily around Dan's waist. How he hadn't even put them there, but there they were. 

Dan struggled to his feet, pointedly avoiding Arin's gaze as he wandered to the far wall and traced over  one of the paintings with a fingertip. The paint there was cracked and worn, obviously older than many of the ones on that same wall. It showed what appeared to be a very young woman on her knees on a hill. She was staring up at a swirl of stars, hair tossed over her back, and grinning. Her hands were wrapped around the stem of a huge, golden lily that appeared to glow. This painting meant a lot to him, as it was the  first he'd ever painted, and told the story of where he came from.

"If I go with you, you'll bring me back?" he asked finally. 

Arin smiled behind his hand. "Of course. I'm no kidnapper. When you want to come back, I'll bring you back. If you want to come back at all."

Dan heaved a sigh. "There is no if. I have to come back. But I will go for a while."

Arin climbed to his feet and shook out the ache from his back. Outside, the sun had set, and he was sure that the guards combing the woods would have gone back to the palace for the night, making this the best time to escape. "Are you okay enough to go now?" he asked, mildly concerned for his new friend's health. He was still pale, but he no longer swayed when he stood, and he looked much sturdier. 

"I should be, I think," Dan replied after a minute, subtly flexing his hair around his waist to test its strength. He was going to have to show this stranger what it did at some point, but he still did not entirely trust him, especially with such a heavy secret that could mean serious trouble.

He approached the window, heart racing, and felt the urge to peek out to make sure that  Lydia wasn't hiding in a bush or something. His mouth was dry and he could guarantee that he had never felt so nervous in his entire short life. "Arin, before we go, there's something you should be prepared to see."

Arin snorted and readjusted the satchel on his shoulder. "As long as your pants stay on, I'm ready for anything." His joke was met with a blank stare. "Okay, never mind. What's on your mind?"

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes next. The massive rope of hair unwound itself from the tall, slender man's waist, sliding down to the floor far more gracefully than any living thing. Arin subconsciously took a step back, shocked speechless. His attention focused on Dan's face, how the bright green eyes turned a pulsating, vivid gold as his hair moved. The hair lengthened to far longer than feasibly possible and flexed like another limb, a living thing that moved with Dan's breath. 

The end of it, because there was an end in the sea of curls, lifted and wrapped around the beam just over the window. Arin swore under his breath and, hesitantly, reached out to lightly brush the tendril of hair. It was incredibly soft, softer than anything he'd ever felt, but strong like iron. "Wow," he finally said, still at a loss for words.

Dan grinned at him. "What, never seen living hair before?"

"Uh. No?" The hair was moving slightly under Arin's fingertips, feeling like a wild animal just barely contained. He was both terrified and fascinated. 

"It's beautiful."

The words made Dan's heart stop for a moment. All the times that  Lydia called it an abomination, hateful, disgusting, abhorrent, every name in the book, raced through his head, chasing the two little words that had just been said out loud. "I... what?"

Arin glanced up and saw the look of utter shock on his face. "It's beautiful," he repeated. "I've never seen anything like it, it's amazing."

The hair under his fingertip seemed to swell with pride, swirling around his skin like the currents of a stream. "Thank you," Dan said after a minute. "That... that means a lot."

Arin grinned cheekily, normal cockiness back in place. "So, prince charming, are you ready?"


End file.
